Greatest Fan of Your Life
by firetide
Summary: I'll be your crying shoulder, I'll be love's suicide. I'll be better when I'm older. I'll be the greatest fan of your life.


**A/N: This story is based on the song "I'll Be", by Edwin McCain. I love this song, it is truly amazing, and perfect for Draco/Hermione. All text in this story has been taken directly from the lyrics, and I just wanted to say that I don't own this song, I am merely using it for my own selfish pleasure. I'm not making any money off this. I wish. I also recommend that everyone acquire this song - pretty pretty please. It's good.**

**x Mikhaila**

* * *

_Rain falls angry on the tin roof _

_As we lie awake in my bed_

He stood outside by the oak tree at Malfoy Manor. The drenching rain that left him in a dishevelled state mixed with the tears on his face as he stood looking at the only witch he had ever loved. He saw her hair, beautiful and incandescent, the curly strands tamed by the rain so that they fell in graceful curls down her back, and over eyes.

_The strands in your eyes that colour them wonderful _

_Stop me and steal my breath_

Her eyes were closed now, but he could still imagine their brilliance. A deep honey brown, with flecks of both gold and emerald green, depending which mood he found her in. He loved her eyes in all their moods, as he loved her in all of her moods, and yet he found himself utterly captivated my her when he could see the streaks of emerald begin to emerge. The only came out when she was feeling a particularly strong emotion, like anger… or love. The passion that burned within her scorched him when she turned those eyes on him.

_Emeralds from mountains thrust towards the sky _

_Never revealing their depth_

For so long he had been alone. Locked in a world of incrimination, of family honour, he had been bound by his father's wishes. Although he loved his father, he knew that he was not strong enough to live up to what his father wanted of him. He was too weak. After the death of Dumbledore in sixth year she had come to find him. She had found both Snape and himself hiding in northern Scotland, armed with the information that Potter had given her after he witnessed what Snape had done. After she had killed Snape with more pain in her eyes than he could bear, she turned to him. He had thought that he was a dead man. Instead, she offered him a choice. She offered him a place in the light.

_You're my survival _

_You're my living proof _

_My love is alive and not dead_

It was only when working with her that he was able to see what a wonderful person she truly was. Voldemort's promise not to harm his family should he succeed in his task had been nothing more than a lie, as he had realised when he found the Dark Mark hovering over his house and his mother's dead body inside. Apparently Voldemort had heard that Snape had accomplished Draco's task for him, and clearly he was displeased with the development and the apparent weakness in the younger Malfoy. He could see her compassion, her fire, her devotion and her power. And he had loved her.

_I'll be captivated _

_I'll hang from your lips _

_Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above_

Of course, she had never given him a single sign that she had been interested at all. She remained professional, detached, and he could feel that she was withdrawing from him. He knew that she wasn't aware of his feelings, of the fact that he had fallen desperately in love with everything that he had once despised. His conditioning as the only Malfoy heir, and apparent next right-hand of Voldemort had been good training in concealing his emotions. He never gave her a single sign that he loved her, only a cool professional courtesy, mimicking almost exactly that which she gave him. The only times that they had together were the releasing of passion, of frustration and of pain. The stolen nights were all that he had to keep him going, and yet he believed that to her, all it was and would ever be was a release, a way to cope with the pain.

_Tell me that we belong together _

_Dress it up with the trappings of love_

Staring at the witch in front of him, he knew that he had been wrong. He knew now that she had loved him, and had reached out to him in the only way she knew how. He knew that the pain she was killing within herself was not that of the slow but steady death of her friend's, but that of what she believed to be an unrequited love. All the nights that she had cried on his shoulder, sobbing out his pain as he had tried to take it away, in the only way he knew how due to his immensely closed-off emotional state, and she had been crying for the one thing he wanted to give her more than anything else.

_I'll be your crying shoulder_

And now she was here in front of him. His lioness, his goddess. When he had stopped being able to kill the pain and began to cause only more of it, she had taken matters into her own hands. Literally. Lying now on the ground under the tree where they had shared their first encounter was her lifeless body. He could see the knife lying a few feet away, and could see the crimson rivers pooling around her elegant hands.

_I'll be love's suicide_

He wish he could have told her in time. Wished that he'd known that she loved him. He had found the note she had left on his pillow and rushed down here, but he had been too late. He watched as her eyes fluttered closed, and she softly sighed her last breath. His angel, taken away from him by his own naivety and failure to see that which was right in front of him.

_I'll be better when I'm older_

He knelt down beside her, unwilling to touch her. He wanted to hold her, to pull her tight to him and tell her that she was loved. That she was perfect. But she looked so peaceful lying there. Even when the war had ended two months ago, she had not looked so calm. But then, he supposed, not everyone lost their two best friends at the age of nineteen. And now he, at the same age, had lost the same. His best friend, his lover. He had lost the only pure thing in the world which he could call his own… never even knowing that he had her in the first place. His goddess.

He knew that it was time to let her go. Flicking his wand, a similar tomb to that which had become Dumbledore's resting place began to form around her limp body. He stared as she slowly disappeared into a foggy haze, and then she was gone. All that was left now was a grassy knoll, and statue that said simply 'The greatest witch the world has ever known, and the only love my heart has ever felt'.

_I'll be the greatest fan of your life_.


End file.
